Quit
by Rocky T
Summary: J/C holiday ghost story challenge


_Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and all of its characters are the property of Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Author's Note: A response to Jungle Kitty's 'holiday ghost story' challenge. Many thanks to Seema for the beta.  
  
Warning: Character death_  
  
  
**QUIT  
By Rocky  
**   
"She went down around here," the old man said, shifting his pipe to the other side of his mouth.  
  
Chakotay surveyed the barren field, his expression stoic. "Doesn't look like a crash site."  
  
The old man chuckled mirthlessly. "Yeah, it's amazing how quickly the land mends after something like this. From a distance, at any rate. Up close you can still see the gouges and scrapes in the ground." He spat reflectively. "No pieces of the shuttle wreckage, though. The Starfleet crews were pretty thorough, came by right away and cleaned everything up almost before you knew it." He favored his visitor with a long glance. "So, you want to see it up close?"  
  
Gray clouds scurried across the dull sky as a cold wind swept the wintry stubble before them; bare tree branches by the side of the road swayed wearily. But Chakotay took these details in dispassionately; in his mind's eye he was seeing the shuttle spinning down, a long plume of black smoke trailing behind. He envisioned Janeway's hands on the controls as she wrestled to bring the shuttle in for a landing, imagined the expression of grim determination on her face. He wondered what had passed through her mind those last few seconds before the crash--had she realized she was going to die, or did she think right up until the end that she was going to emerge victorious, like she always had in the past?   
  
Belatedly, he realized the old man was waiting for a response. "Well, do you want a closer look or not?"  
  
Chakotay shook his head. "I've seen enough."  
  


* * *

  
  
Peleia III, a sleepy agricultural moon in the Kosos system, was well off the beaten track, about as isolated as any world in the Alpha Quadrant could possibly be. The dingy spaceport saw very little traffic; there was only a single daily flight off-world--and then only as far as the next solar system. Chakotay had resigned himself to spending at least a full day on Peleia III, but hadn't reckoned on not being able to find any public accommodations. The old man had been unapologetic--Chakotay had arrived just in time for the New Year celebration; every inn and hostel in the nearest town was full with revelers and other guests, as indeed was the case every year. And this was no ordinary year. According to the local calendar, it was the beginning of a new millennium.   
  
Perhaps some of the strain he'd been under the last two weeks--ever since hearing the news about Janeway's crash--was evident; the old man had taken pity on him and mentioned there was an ancient cabin on the edge of the fields. It was currently vacant, having lately fallen into a state of disrepair. "But the roof's sound, and if you don't object to some rotting floorboards and rusty plumbing, you'll be all right."   
  
The description of the one-room cabin had been generous, to say the least. The combined odors of decay and mildew assaulted Chakotay's nostrils as soon as he crossed the threshold. He glanced around the room with distaste, noting the rodent droppings on the floor. Still, it was only for one night; in the morning the old man would be driving him to the spaceport. And he'd definitely experienced worse lodgings in the past--in his days in the Maquis, even on some away missions during the _Voyager_ years.  
  
Chakotay dropped his bag near the stone fireplace and set about building a fire. Fortunately, there was an adequate supply of logs stacked outside. A rusty kettle hung on the hearth. Much as he'd have liked something hot to drink, Chakotay decided to content himself with cold water. Not really hungry, he'd already turned down the old man's grudging offer of a meal; any remaining appetite he might have had was now thoroughly banished.   
  
An ancient metal-framed bed stood in one corner of the room. Chakotay ran an experimental hand over it and grimaced. The mattress was lumpy and hard as a stone, the patched sheets that covered it not much softer. He'd be better off curling up on the moth-eaten rug in front of the fire.  
  
Sleep was slow in coming. After several aborted efforts, Chakotay shrugged off his blanket and stood. He felt as if the walls of the cabin were closing in on him. He opened the door and stepped outside. Across the fields, in the direction of the town, a fireworks display lit up the darkness. Deliberately turning his back on it, he searched the skies for a glimpse of the stars. Here and there, against the patchy cloud cover, a few pale points of light were just barely visible.  
  
Chakotay took a deep breath. The wind had died down, and the air felt fresh and cool after the dank cabin. What was he doing here, why had he come all this way to this godforsaken world? What had compelled him to see for himself the place where Janeway's life had come to an end? Was it to say goodbye? Because truth be told, their farewell had come much earlier. They hadn't spoken in several years; aside from a vague belief she was still in Starfleet, he had no idea what she had been doing recently, let alone what had brought her to Peleia III on that fateful day two weeks ago.  
  
Whatever answers he was looking for, they were not to be found in the heavens. With a sigh, Chakotay stepped back inside, closing the door firmly behind him. He fumbled in his bag and pulled out a PADD. He might as well fill the empty hours between now and sunrise with something useful.   
  
The sound of a door slamming somewhere made him jump. The outer cabin door was in his field of vision; clearly, it hadn't budged. A new sound drew his attention. _Creak-creak-creak_, followed by a quick tapping. Chakotay inhaled sharply, then relaxed when he decided it was obviously just a branch scraping against the window. But when he went to the window and gazed out, he saw no branch. He didn't even see any trees--just the endless blackness of the fields. And the crash site, looming in the distance.  
  
He was obviously on edge. Doing his best to ignoring the moaning of the rising wind, Chakotay leaned against the cool pane of glass and closed his eyes. But the image that had been teasing his brain the past few days was brought into sharper clarity--Kathryn Janeway, as she'd been when he first laid eyes on her on the viewscreen of his Maquis vessel, next to the Caretaker's Array. How she'd called him by his repudiated Starfleet rank, and not denying that she'd set out to capture him, suggested they work together to reclaim their lost crewmembers. A few moments later he'd beamed aboard _Voyager_. He'd never forget the way Janeway had stepped decisively in between him and Tom Paris, how her body language had never for an instant suggested she considered herself at a disadvantage.  
  
He laughed to himself. No, she'd always been the one in control. He thought back to their relationship--professional as well as personal--and how it was never uncomplicated. He'd agreed to serve under her, in the best interests of both crews--and had fallen in love with her just a few months into the journey. He couldn't help himself, swept up by the sheer force of her personality, her strength and determination, her corresponding sense of compassion and fair play. Her beauty--the classically drawn features, the long auburn hair only released from its workmanlike bun on rare occasions--hadn't hurt either. He remembered the way her smile lit her face, making it seem as though the recipient was the sole focus of her attention for that instant in time, and the euphoria it had evoked in him.   
  
From the distance of what now felt like several lifetimes, he recalled the rest of their story. How they'd eventually crossed the line of friendship--or were about to--when she suddenly pulled back and away from him. And how he hadn't realized, that first time on New Earth, that this would be the pattern for the rest of time--they'd grow closer, she'd pull away, he'd be hurt and confused, and then eventually he'd move on. Or think he did. But somehow, something always happened to pull him back to her again. The dynamic or whatever it was entwining them never quit--just like Captain Janeway herself.   
  
_Chakotay leaned forward, his hands flat on her desk, allowing the frustration he felt come to the fore. "And that's your final decision?"  
  
"It is."  
  
"It's madness," he shot back at her.  
  
She didn't flinch. "What would you have me do instead?"  
  
"Just give up this crazy notion, Captain! Don't you see, we have no choice but to accede to the aliens' demands--your plan will never work!"  
  
"Giving up is not an option, Commander." He knew that steely tone well. It meant her mind was made up, and there was no power in the Universe that would get her to reverse course. But he had to try anyway.  
  
"That's the problem with you--you always push too hard, never know when to give up, never know when to quit," he said heatedly. "No, you keep on driving, no matter what the cost, hell-bent on a vision that only you can see while the people around you are the ones to pay the cost!"  
  
Her eyes narrowed and he wondered for an instant if he'd gone too far. But when she spoke, her voice was icily calm. "You're mistaken, Chakotay--I'm well aware of the costs, and who it is that has to pay. But as captain of this vessel, it is my responsibility and mine alone. I swore I would get this crew home, and I'll be damned if I'll let anyone or anything stand in my way!"_  
  
Vintage Kathryn Janeway; that incident--involving a species whose name he didn't even recall anymore--had been so typical. No, she had never been one to give up, or to even acknowledge that the odds were against her. She had always been confident she'd win in the end. Suddenly it hit him that this time things were different--cheated of victory so many times in the past, Death had finally triumphed over her.  
  
A door slammed again, followed by a series of sounds that could have been light footsteps. Chakotay shivered, suddenly feeling like he wasn't alone. He closed his eyes and the sense of a presence was even stronger--and it was one he recognized. Feeling somewhat foolish--and wondering if he was losing his mind--he tentatively called out, "Kathryn?"  
  
There was no answer, except the moaning of the wind.  
  
"Even death isn't the end of our story, is it?" Chakotay took a few steps forward. "You and I have at last reached the point where there has to be a final break, and yet it doesn't seem to work that way. You never did believe in giving up--or letting go easily. I always admired that in you, Kathryn, even as it drove me crazy." He drew a long shuddering breath. "I could never be like that. Was that part of the problem, I wonder? Did I quit too easily, did I give up too soon? If I _had_ pushed a little more, or at a different time or place--would anything have been any different now?"   
  
_The candlelight played across her face. She had never looked more beautiful. "What is it you're offering me, Chakotay?" That voice, throaty and seductive--it never failed to work its magic on him.  
  
"Just one night--nothing more. No commitments, no worrying about protocols--or the future. No strings." He was careful to keep his tone light, not wanting to scare her off, all the while willing her to accept. She stared at him for a moment in silence. "You don't believe me, do you?"  
  
Her pink silk robe rustled slightly as she reached up and traced his features. "No, I don't," she said finally, her fingertips lingering tantalizingly on his cheek.   
  
"Why not?" He caught her fingers in his, pressing them against his skin, breathing in the scent of her perfume.  
  
"Because," she said, leaning in closer, her warm breath causing him to shiver. "You never know when to quit." Her lips brushed his as she murmured, "You always want something more."_  
  
She had been right--he'd always wanted something more from her. Those few, precious nights of 'no strings' they'd shared at odd moments in the Delta Quadrant--when her defenses had seemed low, or she'd been in particular need of comfort, of being reminded what it meant to _feel_--hadn't been enough for him. But somehow, their physical union had never developed into anything more. Much as he'd like to lay the blame entirely at her door, he knew he was at fault as well. Maybe the problem had been that he'd been willing to settle for the few crumbs and scraps she'd tossed his way--all she'd been willing or able to give him. If he'd demanded more, or if he'd been strong enough to truly break free of the hold she'd had on him, to genuinely move on--  
  
Instead, all he had to show for the long and lonely years was a succession of ultimately unsatisfying relationships with other women--relationships that had always seemed to hold out so much promise at the outset but had eventually withered. None of those affairs, before or after _Voyager's_ return, had managed to quite fill the chasm in his heart--most likely because _she_ had maintained a presence there all along.  
  
He gave a short, bitter laugh. He needed to go no further in seeking evidence of the pull she still exerted on him than his presence on Peleia III. News of her shuttle's crash had sent him rushing off in a hurry. He'd told himself it was because he needed to see firsthand, to clear up the unanswered questions surrounding her death. And the chance to say a final goodbye. But now, listening to the wind howl all around him, he wondered if anything would ever be final as far as the two of them were concerned.  
  
He sank to his knees, exhausted. A sob broke from him. He gave in, too tired to fight any more. All of the bitterness, the regret, the hurt of the many lonely years, came out in a series of wrenching gasps, coupled with tears that burned as they were shed. Dimly, he was aware he wasn't mourning a sudden loss, but one that had accumulated over time, of might-have-beens, of something precious gone beyond recall.   
  
At last he quieted down. He lay half in a stupor, scarcely feeling the roughness of the floor beneath him. He heard a faint rustling noise but lacked the strength to even lift his head. He caught a whiff of perfume, then felt a soft touch, almost like a whisper, against his cheek. Blindly, he put out his hand and felt something silky against his fingertips.  
  
_*It's all right, Chakotay_.*  
  
"Kathryn?"  
  
_*I'm here._*  
  
"Where--"  
  
_*Shh. It's all right. I won't leave you--ever_.*  
  
"I know," he mumbled, and fell asleep.  
  


* * *

  
Pale sunlight filtered in through the dirty windows when he awoke the next morning. He wondered for a moment what he was doing huddled on the floor, away from the warmth of the fireplace. He rose stiffly to his feet, and only then realized that he was clutching a scrap of pink silk in his fist.  
  
Less than an hour later, he was sitting in the old man's battered flitter, staring unseeingly through the windscreen.   
  
"That's the spaceport up ahead," the old man said, gesturing with his ever-present pipe. He glanced at his silent passenger. "Did you get what you came for?"  
  
"Yes," Chakotay answered slowly. "Yes, I did."  
  
_FINIS  
_   
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